


Say We Leave the Past Behind Us

by lionessvalenti



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When private detective Neal Caffrey goes looking for the missing sister of his new secretary, he finds something darker lurking in the underworld of New York City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say We Leave the Past Behind Us

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the White Collar Reverse Big Bang with artwork by angelita26. Title comes from the song [Weep No More, My Baby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFNo7_LaMJc) by Jack Buchanan.

* * *

Neal Caffrey reached into the bottom drawer of his desk to find the bottle of whiskey he kept for emergencies. An emergency could be anything from being shot at to when the pinched nerve in his neck started acting up, but tonight, it's because his new secretary had asked if she could talk to him. After hours. Off the books. That was never good.

He pointed the bottle in her direction, silently offering her some, but she shook her head.

After pouring himself a finger or two, he placed the cap back on the bottle and leaned back in his chair. His chair, bound in soft leather, conformed to his body after years of use. It was his favorite thing in the whole world. A chair can never let you down.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, holding the tumbler in his hand, but he didn't bring it to his lips. The scent of the whiskey in thick in the room, and combined with Sara's perfume, he wouldn't even need to take a drink to get drunk.

Sara Ellis had only been working for him for just shy of a month, and Neal knew she was not a woman to be trifled with. Despite moving to New York City only a few moths previously from the Midwest, she didn't have that wholesome quality he associated with women from the country. She was beautiful and sharp as a tack. She wasn't a secretary, she was a tornado in a jar, just waiting to break free.

"My older sister ran away nearly two years ago," Sara said. Her hands were wrapped around her little clutch purse. There was probably nothing more in there besides her driver's license, a couple of bucks, and a tube of lipstick. Red number three. "The last I heard, she had come to New York City. When I got the funds together, I came here to try and find her."

"And that's why you decided to work for a private detective," Neal said.

The corner of her mouth turned up in a little smile. "I got lucky."

He imagined that Sara made her own luck.

She opened up her little purse and pulled out a sepia photograph. She held it out to Neal and he set down your glass (still hadn't managed a drink) to take it from her. It was of two young women. One of them he recognized as Sara, with her mystery of a smile and modest dress. The other must be her sister. Her hair was darker, brown, Neal guessed, compared to Sara's red. Her smile was wider, more open, and the hem of her dress was shorter. She must be the rebel, he thought.

"That's Emily," Sara said. "She's three years older than I am. She'd always been a be a bit of a wild card. It wasn't the first time she'd run off. Leaving for a couple of days, or running off with boys from the next town over, it wasn't uncommon with Emily. But when she didn't come back for two weeks, I began to worry."

"Did you file a missing person report with the police?" Neal asked.

"I did and they found nothing. I did the same thing when I arrived in New York, and they were even more useless since she'd been missing for so long."

"And it's been two years?" Neal asked. He tossed the photo onto the desk. He didn't know if she meant for him to keep it of if she wanted it back. He let it fall between them, so she could decide. He picked up his glass and took a sip of the whiskey. It was the cheap stuff poured out of its bottle and into one from a more expensive brand. He hadn't even bought that bottle in the first place. "What do you expect to find?"

"Closure," Sara replied. Her words were clipped, her green eyes suddenly steely. "I spent a long time assuming that she was dead, and even if I may have hope now, all I want to know is the truth. I need to know what happened to her."

"How did you hear that she was in New York?"

"She had sent a letter, but not to me," Sara reached into the purse again and pulled out an envelope. "It's to her from a man named Alex Hunter."

This caught Neal's attention in a way the story of a missing sister hadn't. He sat upright in his chair and took the letter from Sara. He read it quickly. It was mostly formalities, though Alex gave Emily an invitation to stay in Manhattan. Most curiously, it was dated only two months previously.

"Do you know who Alex Hunter is?" Sara asked.

Neal looked up. "Alex isn't a man, she's a woman. She's a known criminal in the city, but she's never been caught, no matter how lavish her parties or high profile her crimes." He shook the letter in his hand, the paper crinkling loudly. "Where did you get this?"

Sara snatched it back from him, but her face revealed nothing. "You have your sources, Mr. Caffrey, and I have mine."

"But yours have dried up, or you'd never have come in here, asking for my help."

She lifted her chin, eyeing him carefully. "Don't think I don't know who you are and what you do."

"I'm a private detective," Neal said.

"And a criminal yourself. A con artist, they say."

Neal had smiled his way into a few buildings, taken off in someone's car more than once without anyone being the wiser until hours later, but he never took for his own personal gain. Well, not usually. Sometimes. It depended on the situation. And he certainly had criminal contacts. How did anyone expect to get anywhere in New York City without knowing a few seedy guys?

He knew Sara was sharp, but his side businesses were kept out of the office. Even Mozzie knew not to call him at the office. How had she figured him out? "Where did you say you were from again?"

She smiled, knowing she'd gotten under his skin. "Iowa."

"What the hell is in Iowa?"

"Corn."

He cracked a smile. He knew it was a good smile, one that had wooed plenty of women, but hadn't seemed to affect Sara. He glanced back at the photograph on his desk. Yes, Sara was the modest sister, perhaps trying to win her parents approval where Emily continued to push the limits. Maybe that's why she'd gone after Emily at all.

"Must be some good corn."

"Do you know where to find this Alex?" Sara asked. She was back to business.

"I have a few ideas," Neal replied. More than a few, even. He'd worked with Alex once, years ago. She was too expensive for his taste. He liked to float by under the radar. That's why he worked so well with Mozzie, who thought under the radar was still too close to the surface.

"That's why you'll always be second rate," Alex had said before she walked out the door with a haughty flip of her hair. He'd steamed about that comments for days.

Neal tried not to think about Alex, or her hair or her breasts, of her skin next to his when they were in bed together. He focused his attention on Sara. "I'll look for your sister. How off the books are we talking here?"

"I'll pay you," Sara said quickly. Defensively. She didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "But if my sister got into seedy business with Alex Hunter, I don't want it to get back to my parents. I know your type gets extra cash selling stories to the newspapers."

Neal had done that once or twice, but with a bad taste in his mouth. It was easier just to take the money. Stealing was more honest.

"That won't happen," he said. He didn't think whatever Emily could be into would be news worthy anyway. This was New York City. There was a lot more going on than the troubles of one girl.

"That's all I ask," Sara said. She got up and started to walk for the door.

Neal snatched the photograph off the desk. "Do you want this back?"

"Keep it. It might help you find her," Sara said over her shoulder. She walked out of the office and shut the door. A few seconds later, he heard the outside door open and shut.

Every instinctive bone in Neal's body told him that this was a bad idea. He might have turned her away, told her to go somewhere else, but he'd made a living off of women in trouble. If Sara wasn't in trouble, Emily certainly was. Or had been.

Neal wished that he'd kept the letter, or had Sara make a copy (what else were secretaries for?). He could get it off of her in the morning. For now, he threw back the rest of the cheap whiskey and picked up the phone.

Mozzie sounded surprised to hear from him, and Neal was even more surprised that Mozzie answered on the third ring. Usually, he had to call two or three times before Mozzie would pick up.

"Hey, Moz," Neal said. He leaned back in his chair, pulling the base of the phone closer to the edge of the desk. "What have you heard about Alex Hunter lately?"

"That she be avoided at all costs," Mozzie replied. "I thought you felt the same way."

All costs? Not unless she was useful, but he didn't say that. "I have a case and Alex is my only lead."

"When are you going to give up this guise as a private dick?"

Neal made a face. He hated it when Mozzie didn't take his job seriously, but Moz only took his crime seriously. "When it stops being useful. And I like making an honest living. Now, do you know where Alex is?"

Mozzie was quiet for a few seconds, but Neal could hear him breathing. "If you need to know, it can't be good."

In addition to being an excellent informant, Mozzie was also a good friend. They'd been working together ever since Neal had come to New York City eight years previously. Mozzie wouldn't have a lot of patience for Neal, however, if he was told this was all for the new secretary. Mozzie had little time for women, especially when they got in the way of a job. Unless, like Alex, they could be useful.

"It's a case," Neal said. "Alex is my only lead."

"What's the case?"

"Missing girl. Woman, actually. About thirty."

"Who's looking for her? Her parents?"

Neal knew it would be easier to get the information out of Mozzie if he thought it was the parents looking for their daughter. Mozzie was an orphan and he had a soft for stories about parents and children. However, for as easy as it was to lie to other people, Neal hated lying to one of his few real friends.

"Her sister," he said after a moment.

Mozzie hummed on the other end of the line. "She's been hanging out at Feathers, last I heard."

"Of course she is."

Feathers was shorthand for the Smoke and Feathers Club in Queens. It wasn't surprising that Alex was there, and Neal probably would have ended up there eventually. She hadn't worked out of there before, as far as he knew, a little low class for her tastes, but more crime went in and out of there than all of lower Manhattan combined. A woman with her reputation was probably welcomed in with open arms.

"Be careful," Mozzie said. "I know you and Alex have a history. Don't get sucked into her web again."

"I won't," Neal said. If Alex had information about Emily Ellis, she wasn't on his side. "Thanks, Moz."

After he hung up the phone, Neal thought about pouring himself another glass of whiskey. It was late and he wasn't going to start in on Alex tonight. But whiskey wasn't going to help clear his mind to figure out what his next step was.

Neal considered the phone. He had a few more contacts, but the most obvious one was a call he didn't want to make. There were friends, like Mozzie, and then there were contacts, like Peter Burke.

Peter Burke worked for the police department and he had a certain _history_ with Neal. Complicated, not great, but this wouldn't be the first time Neal had given Peter a call. The phone went both ways, but Peter had never called. Of course, he had the resources of the police department and Neal was just a PI in Brooklyn.

It wasn't that Neal wanted Alex to get busted. There was professional courtesy to consider, but sometimes you need to shake up the hen house to get to the eggs.

It was late and Peter, a respected man, was probably in bed with his wife, Elizabeth. He wouldn't be at the office at nearly eleven at night.

Neal licked his lips and put his tumbler away. It was better just to walk home and save the whiskey for real emergencies.

* * *

At exactly seven-thirty the next morning, Neal walked into the police station wearing his most average brown suit. He didn't smile too widely or bring attention to himself as he moved through the station, and no one said a word to him.

When he reached Peter's office, he rapped his knuckles against the frosted glass window in the door. It had Peter's name on it in peeling orange and brown letters. The man was an institution.

"Come in," came Peter's voice from the other side of the door.

Neal opened the door and walked in. The office was cluttered, with boxes stacked against the walls, and the file cabinets open, stuffed with folders. Neal's casework could get backed up too, but he never let it get like this in the office.

Peter was hunched over his desk, a pen in one hand, scratching notes in the margins of a typed report. A cigarette was wedged between two fingers on his left hand, apparently forgotten, the flame nearly to Peter's skin. He was handsome, but stressed, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than the last time Neal had seen him.

"Hello, Peter."

Peter looked up from the stack of paperwork and his eyes widened. "How the hell did you get back here?"

Neal grinned. "I didn't wear this suit for my own pleasure."

Peter threw down his pen and smashed out the stub of a cigarette in a nearby ashtray. He leaned back in his chair (not nearly as nice as Neal's) and shook his head, half in amazement, and the other half exasperated. "What the hell are you doing here, Caffrey?"

"That's no way to greet an old friend," Neal replied with a smile as he sat down in the straight-backed chair across from Peter's desk. "I need your help."  
"Of course you do."

"Peter, this is a scratch my back, I scratch yours sort of situation," Neal said. "You're going to get just as much as you give."

"You most definitely have never scratched my back," Peter said. He grabbed the metal case off his desk and pulled out a cigarette.

Neal lifted an eyebrow. "I don't know about that. How's Elizabeth?"

Peter's face went red as he lit up the cigarette. "Caffrey..."

"Sorry, sorry." Neal held up his hands. "I have a case and my first big lead is taking me to Smoke and Feathers. It's taking me to Alex Hunter."

Now, that caught Peter's attention. He'd been after Alex for years. In fact, that was how Neal met Peter in the first place. Neal might have been working with Alex at the time, and he didn't allow Peter to get close to her. Instead, he got close to Peter.

"What's your case?"

Neal smiled. "Missing woman. She's been gone for two years, but my client found a letter to her sister dated three months ago from Alex, inviting her to stay in Manhattan. Gave her enough hope to come out here and get a job, try to look for her."

"Where'd your client get the letter?"

"She wouldn't say."

"Was she afraid?"

Neal shook his head. "I don't think anything scares her. But I wouldn't be surprised if she was hiding something. Beautiful women almost always have secrets."

Peter narrowed his eyes at Neal for a moment. He tapped the ash off in the tray. "Do you know how the missing woman knows Alex?"

"The letter didn't say. It was pretty generic." Neal reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph Sara had left him. "That's her, Emily, the dark-haired one. The other one is my client, Sara."

"Are you sleeping with her?" Peter asked after studying the picture for a moment.

"She's my secretary," Neal replied.

"That wouldn't stop you."

"You like to think you know me so well, Peter." Neal smirked. He didn't smirk often. It showed contempt. He preferred a broad smile that could mean just about anything, but right now Peter needed to be shown some contempt. "Do you want to give me a hand on this one? Find the girl, maybe bust Alex Hunter while you're at it?"

"Isn't she a friend of yours?" Peter asked.

"Alex? Never has been, and never will be. I'm not the criminal mastermind you seem to think I am. That's Alex Hunter, and we can catch her."

Peter smiled a little bit, and it was a good look for him. He looked younger, less tired. "And find the girl."

Neal extended his hand to Peter. "Sounds good."

Peter raised his hand and considered Neal for a second. "I may regret this," he said, but he shook Neal's hand. His hand was warm and smooth. Someone had been behind a desk too long. Yes, the allure of going to Feathers and taking down one of the city's most elusive criminals was strong.

"We can't just go in guns blazing," Neal said as he retracted his hand. "We have to be subtle about this. I know that's not your specialty, Peter, but I think you can do it."

Peter drew his eyebrows into a scowl, possibly wondering what he had just agreed to, but after a second, he nodded. "What's the plan, Caffrey?"

* * *

The Smoke and Feathers Club lived up to its name. The dark walls were splashed with color from peacock feathers in large jars and a thick haze of smoke hung in the air. Neal covered his mouth to cough, the only man in Manhattan who didn't smoke. He avoided clubs for the most part when he could. They were all the same.

"Let me buy you a drink," Neal said to Peter, and Peter shook his head.

"I'm not here for funny business."

Neal smiled to himself. He liked to know he'd made such an impact. "Business, then. Let's go downstairs to the secret room in the basement."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "I thought you didn't work out of here."

"I still hear things." It wasn't as though Neal had _never_ been to Feathers, and there were certainly lots of stories about how things worked here. Not just anyone could use the basement, and certainly not just anyone could use the secret room. But Alex wasn't just anyone. She could have anything she wanted.

Neal led Peter down the narrow staircase to the basement. Unlike the lush main floor, the basement was a cold, but dry, space. Neal had been down here before, and the rows of table then had been covered with guns. He'd turned a blind eye to it, not one for guns that weren't for hunting, even as he kept his own Walther PPK holstered under his arm, just in case.

Now, there were no tables. Only a circle of chairs in the dim light of a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. What kind of operation were they running? Neal had never seen anything like it.

Neal grabbed Peter's arm an tugged him into the secret room to the right of the stairs, behind a section of fake wall. The door closed behind them and the tiny room was pitch black. They weren't quite pressed against each other, but Neal was still aware of Peter's breathing and his scent. His cheap cologne that Neal could only smell if they were this close together.

The last time Neal caught a whiff of the admittedly terrible cologne, he was half-awake in bed, curled between Peter and Peter's wife, Elizabeth. It wasn't the first time it had happened over the years in the long history of Neal and Peter's professional relationship, but that time was different.

That was the time Neal wrapped his arm around Peter's waist and kissed the back of his neck. He took a deep breath of Peter's scent and mumbled, “I love you.”

Whatever Peter and Elizabeth had gotten out of the arrangement, it stopped then. No more phone calls, no more favors. Neal tried to respect Peter's distance. He'd spooked Peter and he knew it. He tried to reason with himself that it'd only been for the good contact at the police department, and that was probably what Peter thought, too, but Neal couldn't deny his true feelings.

That was when he began picking up more jobs from Mozzie. If he couldn't have Peter, he could have some crime. He'd worked with Alex, just because he knew it was exactly where he could forget about Peter Burke. It took a year for him to realize he couldn't, and slipped back into more legitimate work, just to call in a favor.

The hidden room in the basement wasn't meant to be funny business, but now it was all Neal could think of. He was about to say something, anything, when he heard voices on the other side of the wall, but their words were muffled.

"Something's not right here," Peter mumbled, his mouth somewhere in the general direction of Neal's ear, he seemed so far away.

Neal nodded, and when he realized that Peter couldn't see him, he tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't work. Without his words, Neal was nothing.

"What's happening?" Peter asked. "What is this?"

Neal shook his head, but that made everything worse. He swallowed, trying to keep from being sick. He slumped against the wall, leaning his heavy head against the wood panel. He thought he might black out, but as he tried to open the door, but he only slumped against it and slid down the wall as far as he would go.

He tried to say Peter's name, but no words came out. That was when the door opened and the room was flooded with light. Neal fell through the doorway and onto the floor. He could see two pairs of men's shoes, but they disappeared from his line of sight.

Loud against the cement floor, footsteps came toward him. His eyes wide open, Neal could see a pair of brown high heel shoes stop in front of him. Someone crouched down and grabbed his hair, pulling his head up so they were looking each other in the face.

"Hello, Neal," Alex said with a smile.

If Neal could have moved, he would have smiled back, but instead he just stared up at her beautiful face and he knew he'd been set up, and he'd dragged Peter along with him.

Alex dropped Neal's head and it banged against the cement. "Let's get them up and over here," she said. "And take their guns."

Strong hands retrieved Neal's gun from its holsters and then pulled him up, dragging him to the circle of chairs in the middle of the room. He was put upright in a chair and was tied to it, to keep from falling over. Out of the corner of his eye, Neal could see Peter, just as limp.

Alex sat down across from Neal and pulled a cigarette from a silver case. "Smoke?" she asked, holding it out and then retracted it just as quickly. "That's right, you don't. I bet Detective Burke would like one, but I just don't see how he'd hold it. Really, Neal, you brought a cop to Feathers? What were you thinking?"

Neal couldn't answer, but he could feel the paralytic wearing off. There was a tingling sensation in his shoulders and his jaw. Since he was unable to speak, he glared at her.

"You're probably wondering why I brought you here," Alex said, crossing her right leg over her left knee. She always wore trousers. Neal had never even see her a dress, but she always appeared feminine and put together, with her long brown hair styled and hanging loosely around her shoulders. She was Katharine Hepburn, if Katharine decided to take up a life of crime.

Neal grunted, and he was able to wiggle his fingers.

She lit her cigarette and considered me carefully. "It's not like I wanted it this way, but you left me no choice. We don't say that a lot, do we? There's always a choice, but this time, it had to be you. You see, Neal, I'm more than your average thief. How do you think I've gone so long without getting caught?"

Swallowing, Neal managed to mumble, "Human sacrifice?"

A flicker of a smile cross Alex's face before she took a long drag from her cigarette. "Somebody's a better detective than I gave him credit for."

In his peripheral vision, Neal could see Peter stiffen slightly in the next chair over.

Alex saw it too. "Don't worry, Detective Burke, I'm not going to kill you. I have no interest in taking the life of a police officer. I'd never be able to step foot in this city again. But a common criminal, now that's another story."

"And then I'll arrest you for murder," Peter said, his words slurred slightly from the paralytic.

Something dark flashed in her eyes. "I'd love to see you try, Detective. How's that been going for you up until now?"

Neal caught some movement from a dark corner of the room and was pleased to find that he could move his head. Walking into the light was Sara Ellis, with her stern face and modest dress. "So, it was you," he said. "Was there ever a sister?"

"There was once, Mr. Caffrey," Sara said as she sat down next to Alex. "But I've known Alex since I came looking for Emily two years ago. Alex showed me the way."

"The way to what?" Peter asked.

Alex took the last drag from her cigarette and dropped it on the cement floor. She smothered the flame with the toe of her shoe. "Enlightenment."

From the shadows, more women appeared and stood behind Alex and Sara. They were different ages, different races, and Neal counted eleven. Thirteen total.

Neal spent most of his spare time reading, so he learned a little bit about a lot of things. A book he'd read had been about witch trials in the 1800's. Covens came in thirteen: twelve members and a leader. From the way these women hovered around Alex, he knew who the leader was. And he knew how she'd been getting away with her crimes for so long now.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Neal asked. "What do you want?"

"As women we've been used by men, abused by them, and left by them." Alex pulled out her cigarette case and took another one. But instead of lighting it up, she passed it back to one of the women behind her. "We had to band together. And when we came together, we found out exactly how powerful we are."

"Why me, though? You're the one who left. You said I was second rate."

"And you're the one who got me pregnant," Alex replied. Her voice was flat, as though her words didn't hold any impact, but they did.

Neal stared at her, his jaw dropping open. "What?"

"Don't worry, Neal, the baby's gone, if that's what you're worried about. Stillborn. She was beautiful, though, as you'd imagine."

He knew Alex had gone off the map for a while after the last time he'd seen her, but that wasn't uncommon for people in their line of work. He hadn't sought her out, either. There was no way of knowing.

"Alex, I--"

"Don't," she snapped. She stood up, and it had been a while, but she seemed taller than Neal had remembered her. She leaned over, her hair tickling his cheek, and she whispered in his ear, "You're going to be amazed at what I can do."

She moved away and out of his line of sight. Now, only Sara sat in front of him.

"Guess there's a lot more than corn in Iowa," Neal said.

A smile tugged at Sara's lips. "We have a national soy museum."

"No wonder you got into witchcraft and moved to New York. Or was that the other way around? Was there ever really an Emily?"

She tilted her head to the side as she looked back at him. "There was, once. And if I'd ever had any information on where she might have gone, I would have come to you to find her. You do clear an amazing number of cases, Mr. Caffrey."

"You're going to kill me," Neal said. "I think we can stop with the formalities."

Sara stood up and she flicked the blade out of a pocketknife that Neal hadn't seen when she sat down. She moved toward him slowly and preseed the blade against his cheek. "What makes you think anyone is interested in killing you?"

"If you're not, you're certainly sending missed signals," Neal replied, careful to not move his face too much. He didn't want the blade to slip, but it didn't matter.

She jabbed the knife against his skin and the blade was so sharp, he didn't feel the cut, but he could feel the warmth of his blood running down his cheek. She whispered a few words in a language he didn't know -- Latin, maybe -- and stepped back.

"Neal?" Peter asked.

Neal turned his head, and he wasn't sure what he expected. Peter represented everything strong and solid in his mind, but right now, Peter looked confused, and maybe a little scared. This was beyond the black and white world of Peter Burke's reality. The again, it wasn't like this happened to Neal every day either.

"I'm fine," Neal said, but now his cheek was starting to sting and the blood dripped onto his shoulder. "We're going to be fine."

"Do you really think so?" Peter whispered loudly back at Neal, more panicked than afraid. That was somehow calming to Neal. At least Peter wasn't scared.

Neal was about to respond, though he wasn't sure what words were going to come out of his mouth, but that was when the lights went out. In the basement, there was nothing but darkness.

The light came in slowly, tiny dots of orange flame, as though they were floating in from far away. As the lights came closer, it was the coven members carrying candles, but it seemed impossible that they they had been that far away. The basement wasn't that large -- or was it?

Alex stepped into view with a candle of her own, and she began mumbling words in the same language Sara had spoken to him earlier. She leaned forward and smudged her finger against Neal's bloodied cheek.

"Alex," he said, trying not to sound like he was pleading, but whatever she was going to do, it couldn't be good. It had to stop.

She ignored him, continuing to speak as she mixed his blood into the soft wax in her candle. Like a firecracker, the flame tore through the wick and exploded in her hand. A warm glow filled the room, coming from nowhere and everywhere.

"How are you doing this?" Peter asked.

Alex's eyes darted over to him. "It's magic, Detective. It's nothing special, but it's the only weapon we really need. Now I'm going to need you to shut your mouth."

Peter started to speak, but she pointed at him with a single finger and the words were sucked out of his throat. His face twisted up like someone forced a shot of whiskey down his throat when he wasn't ready. He choked and coughed, and ash sputtered out of his mouth.

"Alex," Neal snapped. "Alex, stop that. Leave him alone."

She pointed her finger at him. "Don't make me silence you too."

Neal swallowed hard and gave her the most steely glare he could manage.

Alex's shoulder shook with a silent laugh and she went back to the Latin. Behind her, the other women spoke in unison. Neal glanced back at Sara and made eye contact. She smiled serenely through her words, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

"I'm not killing you, Neal," Alex said over the sound of rest of the coven, "but I am taking your life away from you slowly. Sucking minutes away that you could have had. It might not seem like much now, but look down the road twenty years, thirty, and you'll feel the moments I've taken from you. You'll feel in your soul, the missing minutes from you life."

"That's it?" Neal asked. "A few minutes here and there? That's what this is about?"

"Do you know how many men I've taken minutes from? They add up fast, Neal. But your minutes will last even me longer than anyone else's. Because I mean it more this time. This coven has another hundred years."

A chill ran down Neal's spine, but he couldn't explain why. Next to him, Peter coughed again.

"Are you telling me you can live forever?" Neal asked.

"Maybe someday," Alex said with a smile. "But for every minute I live, you'll feel my pain, Neal. You'll know exactly how I feel."

"It wasn't my fault, Alex," Neal said. Now he was pleading and he knew it. He didn't even care. "You can't blame me for what I didn't know about."

"It's not about the baby. It's about you. I don't want to be connected to you anymore. Taking this from you frees me." Alex began to chant along with the rest of the coven.

It was Neal's turn to be unable to speak. There wasn't any coughing or ash like there had been for Peter. He couldn't even tell if was part of Alex's spell, or his own shock and fear. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.

Neal's heart began to pound. His pulse had been heightened, as anyone's would be, but now his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

This was it. This was the life, however little of it, draining out of him. He could feel it, slowly leaving him.

And then he blacked out.

* * *

"What are you going to write in your report?" Neal asked. It was two days later, and he was sitting in his chair in his office, across from Peter. This was a safe place. His office. His chair. He'd poured a glass of emergency whiskey for both of them. Peter downed his instantly, like he couldn't swallow it fast enough, while Neal mulled over his.

The first thing Neal remembered was Peter's face looming over him, asking if he was all right. Peter had seemed genuinely concerned, which maybe Neal hadn't expected.

"We have to get out of here," Peter said, pulling Neal to his feet. Neal was woozy, but he could walk. That didn't stop him from leaning his weight on Peter as they left Feathers together.

He could feel the scar along his cheek. He didn't think anyone else could see it unless they were looking for it, but he'd probably always be able to feel it. He'd always remember the calm look in Sara's eyes as she cut him with her knife.

"I don't know what the hell I'd say," Peter said, shaking his head. He tapped his finger on the rip of his glass and Neal poured him another one. "I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them the truth about what we saw down there."

Neal shrugged. "Me either. But you have to say something."

"Alex got away. It's not as though I made an arrest."

"There wasn't a girl to find, but I guess we closed the case."

Peter nodded somberly. "Yes, we did. That's really what we were after, wasn't it?"

It was. It was the job, and they solved it, but it wasn't a satisfying ending. It was better, Neal supposed, than not finding a resolution at all. That had happened before and it would nag at him for days.

Or maybe it was worse. None of those unsolved cases had ever left him with dreams he couldn't explain that fogged up his mind for the rest of the day as he tried to make sense of them.

"Alex won't be back in New York anytime soon," Neal said. "She'll take the other girls with her and go. They may head to Chicago, Alex likes Chicago."

Peter downed his second whiskey and slid the glass across the desk at Neal. "I should get home."

Neal nodded and looked down into his tumbler. He would drink his whiskey, maybe finish off the bottle, and go home alone. There was no more Sara to wink at and flirt with, and maybe take back to his apartment. Mozzie wasn't the sort of company he wanted together. He'd never wanted to be held, to just not be _alone_ in his bed like this before.

"Neal?"

He looked up. Peter never called him by his first name, except for one night. "Peter?"

"It's been nice working with you, but maybe..."

After everything, Neal couldn't bear the thought of Peter telling him to stay away. He'd done that before and he didn't want to do that again, so he didn't let Peter finish his thought. "Peter, what do you say we leave the past behind us? What happened at Feathers. History. Let's forget it and start new?"

Peter considered him for a long moment, and Neal suddenly felt very young. Immature, even, under Peter's intense gaze, but finally Peter spoke. "Would you like to come home with me tonight? Get a real meal in you? Elizabeth's cooking a pot roast for dinner."

The breath caught in Neal's chest for a moment, and he smiled broadly. "I'd like that." He kicked back his whiskey and left the glass on the desk as he got up for his hat and coat. "I thought you'd never ask."

"No funny business," Peter warned as he got to his feet. "Just a meal."

"Of course," Neal said, but he couldn't resist pressing a kiss to Peter's cheek. Once a thief, and all of that. It wasn't illegal to steal a kiss.

Peter's face went red and he took a step back. "Caffrey--"

"I know," he said. He couldn't push, not if he wanted to find his way into Peter and Elizabeth's bed. There was no other reason for Peter to invite him home, but maybe Neal wasn't the only one who needed another pair of arms to lie in.

Neal wasn't sure if he'd ever truly be able to leave what happened that night in the past. What Alex did, he'd feel it every now and again until he took his last breath, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from taking advantage of every minute he had left.


End file.
